Alternative Valentine's
by HI MY NAME IS uncool
Summary: In which our heroes celebrate Valentine's Day while killing off the undead. Ben/Riley, Riley/Ben, Briley in general. And zombies. They're back.


This was written as a response to a challenge issued over at treasuregeeks, a Ben/Riley livejournal community. I recommend going over there right now. The challenge was to write an unconventional Valentine's Day for the boys. Well, this is pretty damn unconventional, considering it's two zombie hunters. Neither of whom I own. I own absolutely nothing referenced in this story at all. :D

**Alternative Valentine's**

"Hey," Ben announces his presence as he climbs into the dull, drafty room, holding his backpack full of newly acquired supplies by one strap. It was once an orphanage, judging by the piles of old children's clothes and toys they found in the attic – an old, New England establishment, with a rickety staircase that splintered nicely as Ben destroyed it. Now, as New England (and all of America and the world) is in the grip of a hostile, undead invasion, it's to be Ben and Riley's safe house for a few days as they try to regain some strength.

"Hey yourself," Riley replies with a slight smile from his position at the window. He keeps his eyes and his gun trained on the ground below as Ben settles on the floor next to him. He puts down the bag and rests his hand low on Riley's thigh, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

"How's your leg?" Riley shrugs, wincing as he shifts on the cold floor. He had hurt his knee earlier in the week – landed on it funny after jumping out a window. "I think we can –" Ben is interrupted as Riley pulls the trigger, landing a square and satisfying head shot. Ben doesn't blink as he continues, " – stay here for a few days. How does that sound?"

"Okay," Riley agrees and grins over his shoulder – a real grin, this time, because he's not distracted by picking off zombies. "What'd ya get?"

"Let's see," Ben narrates aloud as he pulls the bag into his lap. Between destroying the staircase and scoping out possible ghouls, Ben managed to find the infirmary of the orphanage. Surprisingly, most of the medicine was left behind when the facility was evacuated. Equally surprisingly, is the fact that the majority of it has yet to expire. "Disinfectant," he holds up the bottle for appraisal, "and sterile cotton balls."

"Score," Riley almost shouts as he fires his gun for a second, third and fourth time. Ben waits until he's finished.

"The supplies or the shots?"

"Both," Riley confirms. "We'll have to go dispose of the bodies later," he says, "probably once it's a bit more quiet. No doubt the fire will attract more of them."

"No doubt," Ben repeats. "We'll have to rig some kind of rope system to get down there too."

"Destroyed the staircase already, then?" Riley asks conversationally as he scrutinizes the surrounding landscape. A low, haunting moan carries on the wind. They ignore it – soon enough, the creature (and many more of its cousins) that cried such a sound will find them. Until then, they carry on with their flirtatious banter.

"Well, I certainly wasn't window shopping," Ben retorts with a smile as he digs through his pack. "Though, speaking of, I did get you something." This startles Riley into silence. Ben grins, his hand still buried in his bag. "What no retort, Mr. Poole?"

"When... How?" Riley's mouth works, but he can't find the words. What the hell could Ben have found in an abandoned orphanage?

"Eloquent as always," Ben teases and Riley scowls. "Tell me one thing, then you can have your present. What is today's date?"

Riley furrows his brow in concentration. He's never been one for keeping track of time, especially not in the middle of a post-apocalyptic nightmare. Randomly, he throws out a guess. "Uh, March... something?"

"Not quite," Ben grins. "It's February 14th. But, all the same, here. Happy Valentine's Day." He slides the unwrapped gift toward his companion. Riley leans his gun against the wall and takes the object in his hands. It's a book. He runs his fingers over the old, faded cover.

"_Where the Sidewalk Ends_," he reads aloud, "by Shel Silverstein." Ben watches him carefully as he flips through the pages of the old anthology. He found it buried in the back of the infirmary, no doubt used to soothe the ill children. Ideally, it's not the best present for a thirty three-year-old, but it's been so long since either of them have read anything outside of the warning labels on medication. Finally, Riley smiles and holds the book out to Ben. "Read to me?"

_If you are a dreamer, come in.  
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,  
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer . . .  
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire,  
For we have some flax golden tales to spin.  
Come in!  
Come in! _


End file.
